


1.40m

by komkommertijd



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: 1.4k of stupidity™, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Max Introspective (again), Slice of Life, felt cute might delete later, just mindless rambling really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:47:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26302927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/komkommertijd/pseuds/komkommertijd
Summary: In our best times, it was always the two of us and the bed that we shared, was only yours, only mine, 1.40m wide. It was the best time, not one centimeter for fights. The horizon's wide and other beds are soft but what we have is enough.
Relationships: Daniel Ricciardo/Max Verstappen
Comments: 12
Kudos: 72





	1.40m

**Author's Note:**

> Yet another writing exercise I'm unsure about, I guess it turned out okay. I don't have much to say about it but I hope you'll enjoy it :)
> 
> English is not my first language, some mistakes may occur which I can only apologize for.
> 
> (Title and inspiration from [1,40m](https://open.spotify.com/track/1kt88GVueID2jSrXgsfEAT?si=ratZgBr8SGWIaOwshD1RrQ) by Prinz Pi)
> 
> (Comments and kudos are always greatly appreciated. Alternatively, you can find me on [Tumblr](https://komkommertijd.tumblr.com/)!)

“Just- please remove your elbow from my ribs.”

“All you have to do is stop squirming!”

“I swear, I'll make you sleep on the couch again.”

“You won't and you know it.”

“Shut up and cuddle me.”

“Jeez, always so demanding.”

* * *

It's different now, coming home when home has long changed its definition, when home is not a place anymore. It's stupid, Max's knows that it is, yet he can't help but apply the cliché on his own life nowadays. His back aches pleasantly, a sign of leaving yet another productive week behind him. A thud on the floorboards when he drops his bag next to his luggage, shoes tumbling to a halt when he toes them off, and the sheets smell fresh and clean when he falls into the covers face first. A sigh escapes him, eyes closing with his world coming to a halt, when he's finally back where he belongs, where he feels complete and right.

“God, I've missed our concrete block.”

He can hear Daniel laughing from the hallway, making his heart swell with love, and his limbs feel so heavy on the mattress. He could sleep for a week straight now, his eyes are so hard to open again. Max decides to keep them closed and breathes calmly, listening to Daniel shuffling around in their apartment, probably doing laundry or something else that Max will later feel guilty for not helping with. It has a strange sense of familiarity, something so strange and difficult for him to get used to. There has been a time when Max would've felt uncomfortable with someone else moving around his flat, pursuing individual tasks, and co-existing in their shared space. It has something so weirdly intimate, something too big for Max to grasp onto.

“I'm glad to be back home for a while,” Daniel exclaims when he sits down on the mattress that dips beneath his weight, a familiar movement. Max turns his head, smiles sleepily as Daniel runs his fingers through his messy hair. He hasn't felt this much at peace in weeks, hectic days never ending and the time for soft touches and gentle words limited, and to be here now, with Daniel's fingers still carding through his hair, in their own apartment, together on their shared bed that is barely wide enough to fit them both.

“Yeah, it's good to come home.” They both know that there's more to it than they dare to say.

* * *

The space is limited.

Every additional centimeter would add more to the gap between them, made of emptiness, ringing silence, static white noise. With every centimeter, the gorge grows deeper, widens the space between them, robs Max of everything he wants to keep to himself so dearly. Daniel, of course, notices, curls around his back, and grumbles into his nape. He smells like laundry detergent, mostly, and that's soothing in the weirdest way possible.

It began very proud and big and important. It's small now, small words, small gestures, small smiles and small touches, and small things that mean so much more than everything else. Like the way Daniel yawns against his shoulder now, which should annoy Max and make him complain because it makes his shirt disgustingly warm, but somehow he's too tired to care, too exhausted to do anything but roll his eyes.

The space is still limited, not enough of it for fights and arguments, and disputes, not enough space for anything but love, love that chokes Max and suffocates him, and makes him drown in it, and he has never been more content with anything in life before. He's still scared of falling, afraid of hitting the ground, but he's confident now. They're burning bright like stars, hot on his skin and glinting eyes, shining until they burn out in the darkness together. As long as they're together, they can see each other in the dark.

* * *

“Can you hear it too?”

“What do you mean?”

Silence. Daniel breathes quietly next to him, so close, so warm, too much as always. He feels their hearts beat in sync, all-consuming and too real. Nothing and everything at once. It burns in Max's lungs and he lets it, writes love declarations and promises he wouldn't dare to say out loud on the walls with the ashes. No one sees the fire inside of him, surrounding both of them, swallowing them whole, a shadow on the ceiling, silver lining, moonlight, a car honking outside. It's not what Daniel means.

“This.”

Max hums in confirmation, scared to break the magic with his words, scared that it'll all be over if he recognizes it as the big thing it is, if he addresses it now. Daniel smiles, presses his warm lips against Max's forehead, holds him too close, and offers so much more than Max can take or return. There's barely enough space for him to move away. Max would never ever want him to.

* * *

He's still dizzy from the champagne, the celebrations, from being handed around for him to nod at every word of congratulation and admiration so similar to the ones before, from the sheer force of standing above them all for one night. Not the first one, certainly not the last one, a mere step in the right direction, a tick on his to-do list with the final goal of a championship win looming at the end. Not yet, maybe not any time soon, but definitely at some point.

The biggest hopes lay behind the biggest fears, behind the smile Max puts on his face without thinking, behind the work that went into it all no one acknowledges, ever. No one really cares to dig deeper, words of concern and anxiety whispered between crisp sheets and rough pillows instead. He's not the best at voicing his feelings, never has been, and yet lying there next to Daniel in the cramped space, legs tangled together, limbs all over the place, it allows him to do just that. To be vulnerable, weak, to show his most treasured secrets and his worst insecurities, laid bare in one way or another, for Daniel to pick it up and hold him through it, holding him together just like their latticed bedstead holds them together. It's their space for them to share with each other, no one else, never. It's always just them, the two of them, on their best and worst days respectively, in this bed that only belongs to Daniel, only to Max, on 1.4 meters, their frame of light and life, like a safe haven.

It's not a lot, other beds are softer and more comfortable, perfect to fall asleep in and dream of better times, far and wide like the horizon that stretches on endlessly where the sea meets the sky, golden sunlight over Monaco. It's not a lot, yet it's enough for them.

* * *

“This one's pretty nice, it would fit perfectly into our bedroom, don't you think?”

“I don't like it.”

“Max-”

“It's too big, too much space. Our current bed's perfectly fine.”

“Nah, yeah, you're right, sweetheart.”

* * *

It's lazy Sundays most appreciated, days where Max can spend the mornings tracing Daniel's inked skin where the sheets lays it open for him, still warm from the night, goosebumps in the cool morning air. Messed up hair, rough voices, lilac blooming on his skin that feels so sensitive when Daniel runs his fingertips over it before adding yet another one to the collection in the soft glow of the morning light seeping through the blinds.

Days like this, lazy kisses on the couch, shared beers on the balcony with the sun dipping into the sea, slow dancing in the kitchen with soft music. Promises pressed into heated skin, quiet nights, and comforting proximity. Titles and dreams are good, making memories like these is equally thrilling.

Nothing of this will last, they'll disappear in the dark one day and no one will remember them, no one even knows them now, and Max will leave everything behind him, everything but those sacred few perfect seconds, memories of every fiber of Daniel, every mole, every dimple, every sparkle in his eyes, consuming Max whole. It is everything he will keep with him, close to his heart, ingrained in his mind. Nothing matters but this, Daniel, them.

They always find their way back home, back together, back to their bed. It's fucking silly, Max doesn't even dare to tell anyone about it. There's no reason to anyway, for this is his, theirs to share with each other and no one else.

Always only them.


End file.
